On A Yellow Legal Pad

On A Yellow Legal Pad

I have little patience for underdogs

& have made an ancillary vocation

of writing about it on a yellow legal

pad. Then, I also critique combative

pundits w/ playfully profane jibes &

use compassion to boost the intrigue.

You would not believe what I have

done behind the typewriter, breathed

life back into dead letters, crippled

souls, dismissed colorful anecdotes,

plagiarized, annotated gonzo action,

assembled assaults, executed orders,

rallied the troops, educed excitement,

splattered certainty, hollowed out the

sea, occupied a chair, unfolded fear,

invaded rival terrain, burned bridges

  … all while high on ethos. It’s how I

acquired admirers, groping for words

to define blood & bombs & bordellos.

I have little tolerance for curtains w/

scalloped edges, umbrella drinks, or

having to survey the distance among

things, shaping allegiance & verity.

Critical theory will likely be the death

of me. It all begins on a yellow legal

pad, all of it. And then the machine

swallows it whole – the quality of my

secrets laid bare for all to devour.

***

This poem kind of ran away from me and I had a ton of fun chasing it. My prompt pal likes to write on yellow legal pads. That fact caused me to launch into this ditty. It was a bit of a wild ride but arent’ they always? It’s worth the fear and faith to put a poem into the world.

In propinquity,

Nic

That's Entertainment

That’s Entertainment

an unreliable narrator

had an encounter w/ a

strange woman in a bar

& emerged unscathed

            hush

a fly-by-night relator

subtly tried to refract

onus after pestering a

gratified man to admit

            hush

an unscrupulous teller

attempts an alteration

to not revolve around

misfortunes of others

            hush

on the outside

looking in

every overture to the

language of

            small complex

stories

is mere

entertainment

a choose

your own

adventure

           

***

I thought about working on my ‘Sillyheart’ edit while I ate lunch today but I found myself pecking away at a poem.  Adam Baldwin added some new songs to a Spotify playlist and one of the gems was The Jam’s ‘That’s Entertainment’ – hence the title. I rolled a bunch of words around in my hands until I came up with the above.

I am also still working on a short story called ‘Corner Store’. It keeps bumping around in my brain so even with the edit on tap I have to follow through for Bertie and Mattie. I’ve got five pages written so far which is less than nothing but it is a beginning. It’s all in my head and yet I struggle to find the words. It’s terribly frustrating when you can see a story but it won’t land on the page.

Another heat wave has gripped the Maritime  and lack of sleep has me feeling a little queasy. I’m not one to complain too much about any weather anymore but I’m not enjoying the discomfort and the tossy turny nights. It makes me feel more stabby than poetic. Oh, the humidity. Stay cool.

In propinquity,

Nic

Thoroughly Good Women

Thoroughly Good Women

(for Mum and Ru)

it is

hard

to imagine

two

thoroughly

good women

hand in hand

at the end of a

delicate dance

still is my heart

instinct with love

while my friend

saves up her sleep

to keep quiet vigil

trying to remember

everything in the

universe is music

to sing us across a

jeweled encrusted

bridge

to a world without

end

it is

hard

to imagine

            two

thoroughly

good women

say goodbye

but then it is

really just a

new

beginning

w/ a grand staircase

of Italian granite to

climb

the earth will

remember her

b/c her name will

forever be

on the lips of those

who

celebrate her

while Angels

write

her name w/ white

fire across the night

sky

one

thoroughly

good woman will

look upward &           

smile

the other will gaze

down w/ wonder

both still in love

w/ the other

            eternally

***

A beloved friend recently lost her darling Mum. It took some time for me to find the right words to honour them both, their bond.

Her loss is just another stark reminder that nothing is promised and moments matter. Words matter. Actions matter most. Don’t wait. Love and profess and act now. Hard and deep enough that it reaches the warmest parts of you. Love is good. Connection. Affection.

Also, be kind to your parents. Please. Cherish them. Listen to them. Watch them. Learn. It’s of the utmost importance.

In propinquity,

Nic

Three Things

Three Things

there are

three things

you should

know about

me

I

have

a deep

hunger

for

metaphors

possess

a strong

virtue for

creativity

&

am often

guilty of

purposeful

delay

***

It’s been a good while since my bud offered up writing prompts. I got one this morning so I opted to abandon my unfinished crossword puzzle and peck. It felt good.

I have been wrestling with a new short-story lately. I’ve got about three pages down but my brain is full of fog and noise so it isn’t coming as fast as I’d like. I seem to lack focus. I’d blame it on summer but I wrote every single summer day with Sillyheart last year so I can’t use that excuse. I suppose it’s just me with my private junk. I need to figure out a way to re-commit to creativity beyond poetry. I’m grateful for the poems but I want the meat and guts of fiction, I’m yearning for it. Perhaps that’s the problem? Wanting it so badly? It’s difficult to ascertain.

This little ditty came quite easily this morning on my commute while holding my breath as a result of weed smokers with poor hygiene. How I miss the weekend.  

Happy Monday, folks!

In propinquity,

Nic

Graduation Toast

My darling girl, Hannah Holly, my whole heart, graduated high school last week. On holiday Monday, we gathered in her backyard for a casual barbecue and family hang to celebrate her accomplishments as well as her 18th birthday which falls on the 7th. I was tasked with writing and delivering her toast. It was emotional to compose and even more to relay it to her, aloud, assembled in a circle of people who love her deeply. I waffled a lot because I was trying not to cry and I kept losing my place and pace but out it came. Afterward, we raised our glasses to our best girl and tipped them up in joy.

And now, after the dust has settled and I have a spare moment to myself after getting back to work, I want to preserve the wisdom written for her here so that those who couldn't make it for whatever reason could at least partake in some small way.

Hannah's Graduation Toast 

You did it! You graduated high school. It must be a really proud moment for you. All of that hard work you have put in paid off and your rewards lie ahead. Chasing your dreams requires great effort, passion, and hard work – the best is truly yet to come.

I hope you take a moment to applaud yourself for all you have accomplished. It’s a no small feat. You graduated with honors and still managed to work at your job and play rugby – your strength and your perseverance is admirable. Imagine what you can do it with all of that fire moving forward?

You’ve reached a milestone that isn’t in any way related to growing up; it’s about being grown up. You have infinite potential to do amazing things with your life and this is where that sentiment holds true, on the precipice of all you’ve accomplished head long into all you’ve still got left to do.

It is good to have an end to journey toward, but it is the journey that really matters. Ernest Hemingway said that. He’s right. It’s never really about where you are going; it’s about how you get there.

As you face this new chapter, allow your old sentimental auntie to impart a little wisdom that I hope will help you along:

·         Even in the most challenging of times please never forget that you have big beautiful voice and the power to enforce change. Never accept a seat at the table when you are capable of heading it.

·         The longest distance between two points is a shortcut. Wanting something immediately means you will most likely pay for it later. Be willing to work hard now and get your hands dirty. I promise you, it’ll make all the difference.

·         Please remember that you always have a choice, no matter the situation.

·         Be brave enough to say I’m sorry, or I love you, or I forgive you. They are human superpowers we all employ. They are important.

·         Only spend what you have.

·         Success is not measured by your job, your education, how much money you have or what kind of car you drive. Success is determined by who you are, how you treat others, and how you conduct yourself in times of adversity.

·         Embrace gratitude. Never forget those who helped you along the way and don’t look down on anyone unless you are helping them up.

·         Combine your confidence with a desire to make the world a better place for you and your fellow man.

·         Surround yourself with people who remind you how amazing you are and avoid those whose only aim is to discredit you. In the famous words of Michelle Obama, “When they go low, we go high.”

·         Life as I’m sure you already know doesn’t follow a carefully thought out plan. Be prepared for the unexpected. Celebrate the highs and don’t forget to ask for help during the lows. It’s okay to fall and fail and reach out. That’s how you continue to grow.

·         Be kind. Especially to yourself, love you. Your primary goal in being a grown up, to be able to navigate this crazy, often times unjust world, is to care for yourself first, so you can do good for others and arrive to where you want to go with wisdom, courage, and a happy heart.

Congratulations to you on your graduation day, my love. You are awesome. You are wonderful. You are strong. You are powerful. And, you are going places. Believe it. We do. As always, you did us proud. Go forth, make good choices, be brave, count your blessings often, and don’t forget to take a moment every now and then to look around and marvel at all the goodness in the world. Kiss the joy as it flies.

Love you forever.

***

Still gets me in the feels reading it back now. I'm sure it always will. Love is awesome. 

In propinquity,

Nic

I Don’t Believe I Am Supposed To Be Happy

I Don’t Believe I Am Supposed To Be Happy

once awake

I never know if

I’ll meet the day a

champion chatterbox

or a soft modern stoic

& since no one owns

my heart

I rise

alone

to crisp

pine-scented air

drink dark coffee

eat ripe red fruits

w/ bread & butter

& ignore willful

typewriter keys

in the other room

merry pranksters                     

            all 44

instead

I compose short

poems on long walks

the

curse

of joy

& the

bitterness

of brilliance

reveal a half

remembered

dream

sweeping my

reverie like a

clutching wind

            it appears on

the piece of paper I

found

crumpled in

my coat pocket

a little verse w/

a perilous future

            on

my travels

I find another

lone writer in wait

on a

park bench

head down

            pen moving

I find myself

sitting down beside

            him

& only

intermittent

banter

breaks our

stone silence

I

considered

shape of his skull

beneath his wooly

hat 

the gilded leaves

pinned to his lapel

& wondered what

it would be like to

trust his mouth on

            mine

I imagined

in a single kiss I

could feel his heart

pump

            inside of his

chest cavity & we’d

dance slow in a vast

meadow

            until I feel a

tear slide down my

cheek &

            acknowledge

it is only just a poem

melting into a scrap

of paper

            it is past noon

I scurry by all the day

laborers reading news

papers

eating sandwiches

out

of brown

paper bags

resting their bones

            I consider

stopping

for

lunch at

a piano bar

a sweet reprieve

to sip house wine

pry open oysters

& glug them down

            but the

arrogant furrow of

my brow forces me

            home

I don’t

believe I am

supposed to

to be happy

***

My bud sent me another prompt, this time it was the poem’s title – which I joked sounded a great deal like a new song by The Smiths. So much fun writing this and it came on a good day since I left my book on my work desk yesterday and had to be alone with my thoughts instead of Anthony Bourdain’s.  I was happy to have had a project to focus on. It’s difficult writing long poems on your phone – the necessities of creativity stop for no one, eh?

In propinquity,

Nic

On The Verge

On The Verge

linger there

on the verge of

            hysteria

& imagine this

scene

            renowned

playwright takes

refuge in his hotel

room

            lights up a

cigarette & pours

himself

a drink

of wine

lays back

& considers

a barbiturate

            binge

drunkenly

agreeable

            he intends

to

throw

back a

generous handful

            measured

out

in the

overcap

of

an

eye-drop

bottle

            swallowed

them all

one careless gulp

pills

overcap

            asphyxia

cold

self-contempt

expires

            reassurance

required

no more

            a last act of

torment

***

I didn’t know anything about how Tennessee Williams died until last night when watching an old re-run of an Anthony Bourdain show. He quipped at one point that Williams choked on a bottle cap and died. It stuck with me and so I poked around the internet a bit looking for clues. And, because I did, a poem.

There are of course conflicting reports about the cause of death and whether or not it was accidental or intentional. Some speculate they used the bottle cap story to preserve his reputation. I don’t think it would much matter given the brave work he put into our world, rich characters of the lost, sensitive, defeated, deviant, peculiar, and invisible. His stories stand the test of time, my dinky poem likely not so much.

Oh, it’s Friday! I’m in the homestretch of a work day and looking forward to loud music tomorrow night with my best bud. But, until then, I’ll work until the supper bell rings and carry on home with my nose tucked in my book until I’m home with my cat and can unwind.

In propinquity,

Nic